Sweet Nothings
by bubblegum-buddy
Summary: Romantic affairs of the cracked kind. At least one upload a week. Ratings from K to M. Please read, review, and most importantly, enjoy.
1. A Somber Affair

**Title: A Somber Affair  
Rating: K+  
Pairing: Undertaker/Madame Red  
Word Count: 1,264**

_And so the blackness enveloped the crimson stains, dissipating into nothingness with tender care._

A long, thin, and pale finger dragged across the woman's cheek, an especially long, black fingernail giving off a faint sheen in the dim light. "Oh my, oh my," the man muttered to himself, drawing his hand away and stroking his chin with that claw-like nail. "What a damned shame…" He then turned around to the assorted wooden boxes behind him. "Let's see here…now what wood would suit you…?" Messy silver hair trailed behind him, bouncing a little as he shifted from box to box. "Ah…Cherry should do nicely~" He pulled the deep red wood off the wall and placed it next to her.

"Yes…red wood for a red woman…"

As the Undertaker prepared the casket, he sighed. It had seemed like only yesterday that this woman had entered his shop for the first time…

-x-x-x-

The door opened and a tiny bell jingled to let the Undertaker know someone had entered without knocking. "Yeees~?" he asked, turning around in a creepy, yet comical fashion.

In stepped a woman dressed in all red, with short, straight hair and scarlet eyes to match. "You're the Undertaker, yes?" she asked, not bothering with stupid introductions. Straight to business. He liked that. It was uncommon in women of his time.

"Indeed, madam," he responded. "What may I help you with today? Would you need me to pick a coffin for you?"

"A coffin, yes," the ruby-lipped woman responded. "But not for me."

"Aaah~ A relative? Friend?" The Undertaker did love hearing the stories people told about the deceased, especially the manner in which they died. It filled him with some kind of sadistic glee. But then again, being the number one shinigami, he could listen and enjoy without worrying about his own mortality. He possessed none.

"Something like that," she said somberly. "A mix of both."

"Oh, more than one?" he asked, his interest piqued.

The woman nodded, removing the red hat that was resting on her head. "My sister, and my…my friend." The Undertaker knew that whoever this friend was had meant something more from the tone of her voice, and decided to press the woman a bit. She certainly seemed sturdy and tough on the outside.

"How did they die?" he asked. This question always put his customers in an emotional turmoil, always sent them screaming and raving.

"A house fire," she stated, and nothing more. Odd, very odd, the Undertaker thought. But he liked it. He liked it quite a bit.

"I see," he muttered. "How unfortunate."

"My nephew, their child, disappeared during the blaze as well," she added, glancing to make sure no one else was in the tiny, dreary shop.

"Disappeared?" the Undertaker asked. "How?"

"No one knows. He just…vanished." A spark of sadness filled her eyes for a moment, and as she closed them in an attempt to quell it, crystal-colored tears welled up. But, she quickly took her hand to them and brushed them away. There was no time for such frivolities. She was here on business, strictly business.

The Undertaker was surprised at her bravery. Despite the fact that she was quite obviously in great pain, she was suppressing it to fulfill her duty to her deceased sister and male friend. His respect for her was growing by the minute. "I see," he said, breaking the brief silence. "What sort of wood would you like?"

"A sturdy one," she responded. "One that won't let anything in or out."

"Yew wood would be good for that."

"That's fine."

"It's a tad on the expensive side, however."

"That doesn't matter. I want what's best for my sister and her husband."

Well that explained some hesitation earlier in the conversation. "That's quite noble of you," he remarked, taking a few wood planks down from the wall, his back to her.

"Not really," the woman denied, flicking a cobweb off a nearby shelf deftly.

The Undertaker chuckled. "You're the first person to deny something like that in this shop."

"First for everything." He could hear that she had a little grin on as she said that.

Their conversations went on like that for a while. Dreary, what with them centering around the topic of death, but not without its own bite of humor. Working with the dead was a maddening position, the Undertaker felt. People treated the whole matter so seriously that it was very seldom that he laughed, so he would make himself laugh, so as not to go mad. Of course, that made people think just the opposite of him, that he was mad as a March hare, but what was to be expected of people?

"Well, I think we're all done here," he said as the planning was complete. "I'll take care of the rest. Come back in three days and I'll have them all ready for you."

"All right," the woman in red responded rather quietly. "Should I pay you now or then?"

The Undertaker shrugged and tilted his head casually. "Whenever. It doesn't matter to me." Usually, he would tell his customers to pay on the spot, but he supposed he could make one exception. She seemed to be of good integrity.

"All right," she said, and pulled out a red purse from her sash. The Undertaker smirked a bit as she laid out half the money she owed him on a table. "I'll give you the rest in three days."

"Good~" the gray-haired man chirped happily, believing it. As she turned to leave, he put his hands inside his sleeves and said, "Wait. Before you go, I just wanted to ask you something."

The woman turned to him, fixing him in an expressionless gaze. "Yes?"

"Why are you all dressed in red? Your hair is red, your eyes are red- now that I can understand. It's likely natural. But why emphasize the color?"

She stood in silence for a moment. "He liked the color red," she responded cryptically.

"Would you care to explain that?" he asked, wiggling about.

"No."

"Hm." The Undertaker smiled, showing off pearly white teeth. "Very well then. Pleasure doing business with you, Madame Red."

"What did you just call me?" she asked.

"Madame Red," he repeated. "For I can tell that you are a woman of high caliber and breeding, and you seem to be enamored with the color red. And since you did not give me a name to work with, that is what I have chosen to call you."

"…I like it," she said simply, then left the shop, closing the door behind her.

She paid the other half of the due three days later, as promised, and took care not to destroy the coffins he so carefully made. Their paths crossed a few times after that, and the engaged in polite conversation as they had that first time.

She found her nephew a few years later, and he was glad to see a smile on her previously expressionless face, much like the face she wore now in her death. Of course, she would never know that it was by his doing that she and Ciel were reunited. The perks to being the number one shinigami were great. It filled him with a quiet satisfaction to see her happy, and that was enough for him.

He'd planned this coffin he was creating from the day he'd met her, and it was with both acceptance and perhaps a tiny bit of that troublesome grief that he realized that this would be the last time she entered his shop.


	2. The Loyal Dog

**Title: The Loyal Dog  
Word Count: 557  
Pairing: Ciel/Queen Victoria  
Rating: K+**

_A loyal dog always goes back to its master, no matter how bloody, how bruised, how broken he may be. But that dog, like all dogs, has teeth…_

She was always dressed in black. Black dresses, black shoes, a black veil to cover her face…All black. So much like the butler, who had such loyalty to him. Somehow, he thought the queen would do the same for him. What Ciel forgot was that, beneath the black swallowtail coat of his butler, there was a demon under the blackness.

He'd been her servant, her outright servant. The Phantomhive house always handled the dirtiest of work, dealing with all sorts of underground powers- the scum of the streets of London. And Ciel always went out to clean it up, for no other reason than, "It is an order from the Queen." He had never questioned, only obeyed, and obeyed excellently. Every mission she assigned him, he carried out, surpassing her expectations each time. He was the perfect servant- no, the perfect dog.

A good dog always goes where its master wants. A dog aims only to please, as long as it is given three basic things: food, shelter, and praise, the latter of these being the most important. As long as a dog is told, "Good dog," it will wag its tail in happiness. In this way, Ciel Phantomhive was the Queen's dog.

After successfully completing an assignment, such as taking down a mob boss or shutting down the business of a drug dealer, the Queen would always send a personal letter to Ciel, telling him how well he had done, and what a great service he was to England. Ciel never let anyone else read these letters, would not even allow his servants to look at the envelopes. These small scraps of parchment, with their shaky yet neat cursive, slightly burned edges, and the occasional candle wax stain, were special to the boy. He treasured them and kept them all in a special drawer in the desk in his office. These letters were the Queen's way of telling him, "Good dog, good dog." And he loved it.

That all changed when he saw the smoke rise.

He couldn't remember which smoke exactly had made him stop caring about the Queen, the smoke from Lau's pipe or the smoke of the burning city, but one of those made his devotion end. The Queen had betrayed him. She had thrown this country that he had tried so hard to make perfect for her away. She let it go up in flames, allowed it to be ruled by chaos.

She let it just _fall apart._

He would have none of it. _No more, _he thought as he handed the boatman his blue diamond ring. "No more," he grumbled as he fell on the heated cobblestone. "No more," he snarled as he went through the castle doors.

"…No more," he whispered as he glanced at her decrepit, dead body. Her death had not been his work. He didn't know whose it was. Perhaps it was that angel, perhaps a rogue guard, or perhaps she was simply much older than her youthful face indicated. He would never know, as moments after seeing that, Ciel loyally followed his master into the realm of the dead.

Until the very end, he was her loyal dog.


End file.
